Remembered By One - Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Four in the morning was
typically a lonely time for Mason, in bed or out. Richard, who always stayed up
too late, drank too much and made love to his phone more often than he did
Mason, would only be up at four for one of two reasons: he had a flight to
catch, or he’d never been to bed to begin with. Mason was on familiar terms with
four a.m. That’s usually when an anxiety attack would hit, if one was going to
wake him up with a frightening nightmare and then keep him up worrying about
things that wouldn’t cross his mind in the light of day.

Tonight’s nightmare had
Randy Porterhouse in the starring role of abused kid. The sound of fists
smashing flesh had been particularly realistic in the dream, and he’d spent the
rest of the nightmare frantically searching for a lost and broken Randy,
certain he’d been locked away somewhere, hurting and alone in the dark. Which
was ridiculous. Grown up Randy was currently sacked out upstairs, sprawled
comfortably with his casted arm nestled in its own pillow and the rest of him
taking up every square inch of the queen-sized guest bed.

Mason knew that, because
he’d checked. At least five times.

But Christ, that dream
had been horrible. He shuddered just remembering it.

After the worst of the
attack had faded, and in between trips upstairs to spy on Randy, he’d turned
his internet searching skills to finding the whereabouts of a totally different
lost kid. One who apparently didn’t exist. Or, if he did, he’d become a monk
and was living in monastery somewhere on top of a snowy mountain without
internet access.

Even aided by that weird
spelling of his first name, Mason came up with nothing. Any leads promptly
turned into dead ends. The Geremys of the world were all too old, too brunette,
or muddling through life like everyone else, but in foreign countries. But he
wasn’t giving up. The photo of Geremy’s smiling face loaded up on his second
monitor kept him company as he searched.

Where the heck had he
gone? It was if he’d never existed. Had never raced around the Novak yard
shooting a water gun, or competed with Mason to see who could spit watermelon
seeds the farthest. Mason kept looking at the photo to remind himself Geremy
was real.

But enough. He was
exhausted. More mentally than physically.

Mason yawned, stretched,
and closed all his programs. His eyes hurt. From crying. Like Randy said, he
was a big baby. Admitting it didn’t help ease the ache in his heart one bit,
though.

Easing out of his chair,
Mason looked out the window into the dark backyard. Nautical twilight was upon
them. Cool term—Mason always liked the way it sounded. So technical. A few insane
birds were already up and trying out a few hesitant notes, not yet awake enough
for full songs. That gave him permission to make coffee, right? The birds were
up.

But before coffee, he’d check
on Randy one last time. Not because the annoying bastard might be lost, at
least not anywhere outside in the dark. But inside his mind? That might be a
whole other story. They’d shared an uncomfortable evening. Randy had retreated
into himself and conversation between them had been strained. Strangely, he’d
acted almost…embarrassed.

What the fuck did Randy
have to be embarrassed about? He wasn’t the one who’d had a snotty, crying
breakdown all over the tight t-shirt of someone he didn’t even like. Much.

Maybe he was embarrassed for Mason? Yeah, that made more sense.

Having the advantage of
knowing every squeaky floorboard and stair, and how to miss them all, Mason
made it to the guest room door without making a sound. After the first nervous
check-in right after the nightmare ripped him from both sleep and bed, he’d
left the door unlatched. Now he only had to nudge it with a forefinger to push
it open far enough to peer inside.

Yup. Still there.

Still sprawled. Half
naked.

The naked bit was new.
He’d been deep under the covers on every other visit.

Sadly, the cloud-covered moon
and the streetlights didn’t provide enough light to really appreciate Randy,
his muscles, and his apparent hairiness.

Make that furriness. Randy was a true blond. Dark
blond, but golden, his body hair included, and blonds never really got all that
hairy. In the faint, milky light, Mason could barely see Randy’s tats, let
alone assess the state of his chest hair.

Shame.

Not that he liked big,
burly men or anything.

Reassured that Randy
looked to be both breathing and comfortable, Mason reached for the doorknob,
but misjudged the distance and smacked it with his fingernails. The knob rattled
ever so faintly. Randy shifted ever so slightly.

Mason froze. Damn it!
Last thing he needed was to get caught stalking a guest in the middle of the
night—even if that guest was someone he’d known most of his life.

From the deep dark, a groggy
voice drawled, “Why don’t you just come in this time?”

“Fuck!” Mason gasped. He
lurched backwards, startled. “Damn it, Randy!” There went another five years
off his life. At this rate, Randy would scare or startle him to death in less
than a week.

“What do you need, Mase?”
Randy’s voice sounded scratchy and sleepy, and oddly, kind of sexy.

Need? Mason needed plenty
of things. But none of them from Randy. The worst thing about four a.m.? The
truth spilled out of your mouth like a bad case of the runs. Lies simply
weren’t believable at the soul-sucking hour of four o’clock, so why try
spinning one? “I’m just making sure you’re okay.” Wow. That sounded lame. “And
comfortable.” Lamer still. “I mean your arm—well, the cast looks hot. And
uncomfortable, and…and—”

“Since when?” Mason
sighed, and then relented. “Fine.” Mr. Obnoxious would probably fall asleep
again in two minutes flat anyway. Mason shuffled over to the edge of the bed
and peered down at Randy.

Yup. Furry, not hairy.
And really fucking large.

The mattress groaned and
Nat’s good percale sheets crinkled as Randy slid over, rolled onto his side and
awkwardly struggled to find a bearable position for his arm. He yanked open the
edge of the duvet. “Get in.”

“What?” No way in hell
was he getting into bed with Randy. Not even if he wasn’t naked. Which Mason
knew damn well he was.

“I’m not going to try
anything.”

“I know that!”

“Not that I don’t want
to.”

Copying Randy’s snort,
Mason followed it with, “Right.”

“It’s true. I’d nail you
in a heartbeat.”

“Oh, quit it!” Randy was so
full of shit. Always had been. “I’m sure you’re just dying to have a go at my
skinny butt.”

“Maybe not dying, but yeah, I’d love to take you
for a ride. My earlier offer stands. Anytime.”

After the whole kiss
thing, Mason suddenly felt leery about provoking Randy into proving anything else. Mason just might
end up being the one to get more than he bargained for.

“Come on. Get in. It’s
the middle of the fucking night and its cold in here.”

As kids, sure. Not as two
grown men who both happened to be gay and had recently shared a spectacularly
dirty kiss and dirtier grind. But if he backed out now, Randy would think him an
even bigger baby, and Mason had some
pride.

He slid under the sheet
and duvet. Holy Christ the bed felt amazing. Mason stretched out and settled
comfortably, and hoped like hell Randy would fall asleep before he had to come
up with an explanation as to why he’d been creeping around in the dark.

“So?” Randy asked not
five seconds later.

“So, so, suck your toe
all the way to Mexico.” That old smart-alecky reply slipped out before he even
realized he’d opened his mouth. Smooth move. Mason was so mature.

“Mason…” Randy replied,
exasperated.

Sorry,
almost followed Randy’s annoyed huff, but Mason caught himself in time. He
didn’t actually think Randy would give him a beating, but why risk it? Randy
confused the hell out of him. “Today—I guess yesterday now—was really
horrible.” Not all of it—hell, no. Some of it had been spectacular. Confusing,
but spectacular. “With your dad, I mean.”

“Don’t let him get to
you. That’s what he wants. What he lives for. Just forget him. He’s nothing but
a bitter old man.”

Bitter? Try stark raving
mad. “He’s malicious.”

“Yeah, he is.”

“How can you stand living
there with him again? I don’t understand it. I’d curl up in a corner and die.”

Randy was silent for so
long, Mason didn’t think he’d answer. Then the mattress jiggled and Randy
inched closer, radiating a furnace-like heat. “It’s a lot harder than I thought
it would be. I’d forgotten what it was like. What he was like.”

In the harsh near-dark of
the bedroom, Randy looked haggard and worn. Mason should have left him sleeping
in whatever peace he could find. “Then don’t go back.”

Surprisingly, Randy agreed.
“I’m not going to. I can’t go through that again, and I fucking won’t. It’s hard to explain, but when
you’re in it, when you’re living in that environment, you kinda get immune to the
horror—”

“Immune!”

“What I mean is you don’t
see how awful it is, how bad things are. You shut down inside and just endure.
You survive. You do anything you have to do to survive. To make it through
another day.”

Mason’s throat tightened
up again, hot and painful.

“But I’ve been on my own
for fifteen years now, and it’s easier for me to see how fucked up it all is.
Because I’m not inside it the hell, not broken down, and not getting told day
in and day out how worthless I am.”

Thank god for that. “I
can’t believe he threatened to kill you. In front of me.”

“That’s nothing new.”

“I think he meant it.”

Randy snorted. “He did.”

“We should call the
cops.”

Randy offered up another
one of his famous contemptuous snorts. “No point. He’s dying. He won’t live
long enough to go before a judge, even if his old drinking buddies bothered to
arrest him in the first place.”

Bothered?
Wasn’t that just great. “People suck.”

“Not all people.”

No, not all. Just most of
them. “I’m sorry I showed up like that instead of calling. I only wanted to
give you your mail. I didn’t mean to set him off.” Like a fucking rocket. That had been such a surprise. Probably
because, unlike Randy, Mason had no immunity. He’d never been subjected to such
horrible verbal abuse, such hate, in all his life. “I don’t even know your dad,
not really. I had no idea he hated me so much. Or why he would.”

“He hates everyone. But
especially you. You, your mom, Ginny. He never wanted me, never cared about me,
but I think, deep down, he was really fucking jealous. Jealous of your family
and jealous of me always coming over here. He despised the fact that someone else
might want me. He always wanted to get rid of me, but it really picked his ass
that I came over here all the time and your door was always open.”

“Fucking looney bastard.”

“Yeah.”

Mason sighed and turned
on his side to face Randy. “I don’t understand why you went back in the first
place. Why you’d even step foot in that house again.”

“I dunno why, either.”
Randy ran a hand through his messy tangle of hair. “I guess I was hoping he’d
changed or something.”

Yeah, right. Nobody
changed that much. A leopard couldn’t change its spots, and all that. “I hope
you don’t think you owe him anything.”

Randy hesitated for a
moment too long before replying.

“You don’t!” Mason shouted.
Shocked at his outburst, Mason lowered his voice. “Don’t you dare think that! You
don’t own him a goddamn thing.”

Randy didn’t need to
explain it more than that. The distance between him and Stephen had grown so
far and so deep, it was now a huge fucking cavern the size of the entire state.
Mason doubted they’d ever close the distance. Or if he wanted to. Relationships
were complicated. Parental relationships were even more complicated. No wonder
Randy felt torn. Even though Randy’s father was hateful bastard, he was still
Randy’s father, and a son never stopped seeking their father’s approval, even
if they knew they’d never get it. “I understand,” Mason whispered. “I really do.”

The replay switch on
Randy’s father’s tirade seemed stuck in the same endless loop as Randy’s kiss
had been earlier. He recalled every nasty word with perfect clarity. “He seemed
really hung up on the fact I’m gay.” Understatement of the year.

“Ah, well. That’s my
fault.”

“Yours? Why?”

“Because I didn’t keep my
big mouth shut.”

“About what?”

“Being gay. He kept
asking me about why I didn’t have a girlfriend. Why I hadn’t knocked up some
bitch yet and what the fuck was wrong with me anyway.” Randy shifted
uncomfortably. “So I told him point-blank it was because I liked guys.”

“Oh, man. Bet that went
over well.”

“Fuck, you have no idea.
I would have been better off confessing to murdering someone. He actually
popped a blood vessel in his eye and it got all red and bloody. I think he
already had his suspicions, but he wanted to make me to admit it.”

“Suspicions?” Guess Randy
hadn’t hid it as well as he thought.

“He’s not stupid. I been
living with him for a few months now and he must’ve noticed I only talk to guys,
or something. Sure, I have a few female friends, not that I’d ever let them
step foot in that house. Mostly I keep to myself. I’m always at work or in the
shop. I basically outed myself by not going to the bar every weekend to pick up
women. And because he has no fucking life, he noticed I don’t.”

“Damn.”

“And then you came over
to ask me about that kid. I think when he saw me talking to you—because he’s a
snooping bastard—the little lightbulb went on in his head.”

“We were only talking!”

“Yeah, but see, you’re
gay. He knows you are. And I don’t chase women like a good ol’ redneck boy
should, or date them, or even really talk about them. So he put two-and-two
together. Plus, he’s a cop.”

“What’s that got to do
with anything?”

“Cops watch people all
the time. They read body language. It’s like their sixth sense.”

“I don’t get what you
mean. Body language? You don’t give away shit. You didn’t even ping my gaydar.
I’m still in kind of in disbelief.” Mason chuckled. “And no, you don’t need to
prove it again.”

Instead of answering, or
responding to his teasing, Randy retreated into silence. Had Mason insulted him
somehow and didn’t realize it? “Randy?” he prodded.

“Shit,” Randy finally
answered. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“What are you talking about? Said what?”
Because now Mason was really confused.

“That thing about the
body language.”

“Why the fuck not? But I
have no clue what my body language was saying, so don’t ask me.”

“Not yours. Mine.”

“Yours?” Mason pushed
himself up onto his elbow.

After a moment’s
hesitation, Randy said, “Fuck it. I’ll just say it, and you don’t get to be
pissed at me for saying it.”

“I won’t. Of course I
won’t. You can always say whatever’s on your mind around me. I can’t believe you
don’t already know that.” What could he possibly be pissed at Randy about? His
old man, plenty. Randy, nothing.

Randy sighed heavily. “He
probably saw me watching you. He can get around just fine when he wants to, the
nosy bugger.”

“Watching me? When?”
Mason remembered that day, and that conversation clearly. The horror he’d felt
as Randy casually revealed his father’s repeated abuse wasn’t something he’d
ever forget. “You said see you later, and then you went back in the garage.”

“Not exactly. I stopped
just inside the garage and watched you leave.”

“Okay, weird, but so
what?”

“After you were gone, I
went to let myself in the kitchen door to give him his meds, but it was already
open. He left it open. I never forget to close it because the fumes get in the
house and it’s dangerous. He left it that way because he wanted me to know he’d
been there.”

“I still don’t get what
the big deal is. So you watched me leave. It’s not a crime.”

Randy laughed. “Fuck
Mason, you can be so dense. I wasn’t just watching, I was…admiring.”

And here he’d thought
Randy had lost the capacity to surprise him. Mason’s arm slid out from under
him and his head landed back down on the pillow with a soft plop. “I’m not—I don’t have anything
worth admiring.”

“Shut up with that,”
Randy snapped. He wasn’t mad, though. The sky had lightened slightly and his
expression was more readable. Not that Mason knew what was going through his
mind. Randy was as much of a mystery as ever. Randy shoved his heavy blue cast
under the pillow so he could lean closer to Mason, and slowly reached over and
cupped Mason’s jaw with his warm fingers. His big, calloused thumb brushed over
Mason’s bottom lip.

Damn that kiss! Instant
recall struck Mason hard and fast. His breath hitched. His dick twitched with
interest. “You’re nuts. I’m skinny, nerdy, boring and a pain in the ass.”

Randy snorted in
disagreement. “You’re not boring. Who told you that? That smarmy douchebag you
were shacked up with? I hope you kicked his sorry ass to the curb.”

Ah, Randy. Still blunt.
For a minute there, Mason had been worried Randy was going all soft on him.
“And you’re still the most obnoxious man I’ve
ever known.”

Randy grinned, his teeth
bright in the waking dawn. “Thanks.”

What an arrogant bastard!
Mason would have told Randy that out loud, except that roughened thumb brushing
over his lip was proving rather distracting. Mason’s entire body, every
goddamned cell, felt each and every swipe. When Randy nudged the tip into
Mason’s mouth, all his inner alarm bells shrieked out danger warnings.

Ask him if he cared.
Because good god, there it was again. That poison racing through his blood.
Mason couldn’t stop himself. He closed his lips around the tip of Randy’s thumb
and flicked his tongue over the rough pad.

“Mason,” Randy growled.

With his tongue otherwise
occupied, Mason hummed an inquisitive sound.

“If you don’t stop that
right now, you’ll make a liar out of me. Because I will try something.” Randy grabbed a handful of sheet and pulled,
almost ripping the fine material.

Prove it,
danced on the tip of Mason’s tongue. Excitement danced there along with the
unspoken taunt. His taste buds were suddenly alight with the taste of salt and promise
and man.

How he loved that taste!

Wanted more of it.

More, more, more!

But.

Having sex with Randy
would be a bad idea for a thousand different reasons. He didn’t even like him. Disliking someone less than
you had a week ago was not a good reason to get naked with them and exchange heart-stopping
orgasms.

And this was Randy. Sex with him would practically be
incest.

Before he did something
he’d regret—that Randy would regret—Mason let Randy’s thumb slide from between
his lips. His hands felt shaky as he rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself
up. Like he had in Randy’s shop, he fought the raging urge to rip off his own
clothes, launch himself on Randy’s hard, naked body and ride his cock until
they both arrived panting at the gates of heaven.

Grinding his fully hard
cock against the mattress as he went, Mason slid his legs off the bed. Randy
stared at him as he moved away, mouth hanging partly open and eyes wide. He’d
hooked the fingers of his broken arm around one of the thin metal slats on the
headboard. He kept a death grip locked around the handful of sheet still
bunched in his other hand. His muscles were tense, the power within coiled and
ready. He looked like predator about to strike.

That predatory pose struck
a chord in Mason and his body sang in response.

But he couldn’t
acknowledge it. He couldn’t afford
to.

He had to get out of here
and away from Randy.

Before he thought twice
about it, he lurched back up, roughly kissed Randy on his open mouth, pulled back and flung himself from the bed.

At the door, he
paused. “You’re not worthless. Far from it.” Then, because he’d known Randy forever
and knew he didn’t make idle threats, he ran for it.

No comments:

Post a Comment

About Me

I'm a writer of erotic paranormal romance (GLBT), a mother of two and servant to a dog and a pair of demanding cats. I'd love to stay home all day and either write novels or read them, but alas, the Evil Day Job keeps me busy (and with a roof over my head). Since I'm scared to touch my website (and my web manager thanks me) I've created this blog to provide updates on my Works In Progress.